


None Of It Is Worth Anything If You're Not With Me

by ErickaB



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-23 21:10:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21087902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErickaB/pseuds/ErickaB
Summary: Season 8 retold the way it should have been for Arya and Gendry fans. This is my gift to you guys.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello all you good people. I was asked a while ago that if season 8 did not turn out the way we all hoped would I be interested in retelling the story? At first, I was not going to do it. I feel like I can't really write a story to top Not Today in my mind, which frustrates me a little. The more I thought about it, though, I realized that even I needed a new story, one that would do justice to our beloved characters we've grown to love. So, this is a retelling of season 8 that will be from Arya's POV. Some things will look familiar. Some will not. But, at the end of this story, I hope you can say that it was an ending both Arya and Gendry deserved. Now, on with the story...

Scores of people ran to and fro, their excitement igniting the morning air surrounding the outskirts of Winterfell. Arya hurries with them, her heart pounding thunderously against her chest. The day had arrived that she would see her brother Jon for the first time in eight years. How would he look? Would she even recognize him? She knew he would not recognize her. The last few years had been hard on her, and she had learned to grow up faster than the normal person. 

She watched a small boy hurry past her and climb up a large tree. She smirked, her mind taking her back to a time when her brother Bran used to do the same. He had changed as much as she had, perhaps even more. He waited inside Winterfell’s walls along with her sister Sansa. Arya did not mind, for she wanted her face to be the first Jon saw. She had missed him so much, more than any other. 

A large army of men dressed in black marched passed her, their eyes trained straight ahead, their large swords at their sides. Arya watched them, watched the way they moved as one, and was quite impressed. They looked strong, determined, but what came after them rivaled them in strength and brutal force. Men with long hair and dark eyes rode their horses along the beaten path. Around her, Arya heard the gasps of the people at the site of these men. They were not of Westeros, of that she knew for certain. 

“The Dragon Queen’s army,” she whispered to herself. 

Above her came a loud shriek causing the people around her to scream in fear. But, Arya raised her head, her eyes growing wide as she saw the beautiful beasts come into view. Dragons. She had only ever hoped to see one in real life. Long dead, they had been, but here they were flying towards her home. Two of them. Their long wings flapped in the wind causing people to run from where they were standing out in the open in fear of their lives. Arya only smiled, remaining right where she was. Fearful, she was of these creatures, but there was a fascination also. 

She followed their flight, mesmerized at how easily they moved in the air. She would give anything for one moment upon their backs, to feel the wind swipe at her face. The wondrous places they could take her. She could finally find out what was west of Westeros on the back of one of those giant beasts. 

Her back was turned away from the army, but the moment people came back to the line with welcoming shouts, Arya turned. The moment she saw him the world around her stopped. Jon rode atop a large horse, towards her. She recognized him instantly. He looked to have had rough years like her, but she would know that face anywhere. He turned to look beside him, and Arya followed his movements. Beside him was a beautiful woman with white hair… the Dragon Queen. They smiled at one another. 

Arya pushed her way through the crowd. She felt the pull towards Jon grow with every second that passed. He was not looking in her direction, and she was desperate to meet those dark eyes. She was desperate to feel his arms around her, to feel her brother hold her again. 

“Jon!” She yelled, but her voice was swallowed by the large crowd yelling their own welcomes. 

Desperation took over and she pushed forward more forcefully than before. Arya ignored the many disgruntled words thrown at her. She wished she had been as smart as that little boy and climbed the tree for a better look. Instead, she was left to fight the large crowds. Jon was moving closer and her cries grew. 

“Jon,” she whispered the moment she made it to the front of the line. She was too late as Jon passed her right over without even a glance her way. 

Her heart fell, the smile on her face disappearing. Arya stared at the back of Jon’s head as he continued his ride towards their childhood home. She would find him the moment she made it back. She would fight the entire crowd if need be. 

Arya turned back to the parade of men moving passed the crowd, but the next face she saw made her feel as though she were going crazy. The Hound rode towards her, his disfigured face looking quite bored with his current situation. It was not possible. She had left him to die that day. There could have been no way he survived his wounds, yet here he was before her. Arya had admitted to herself, later, that she did not really want the Hound to die, but she never thought she would see him alive. Just as Jon had done, he rode passed her without so much as a glance. She followed him for a while, knowing they would have to come face to face. With a slight shake of her head and a chuckle, she turned back to see what other surprises awaited her. 

The next person she laid eyes on caused the very breath in her body to suddenly stop. Without meaning to, Arya took a step forward, as if this person was a magnet calling to her. His face drew closer, and Arya felt herself being sucked into a time when she was a scared little girl running and fighting for her life. He had been her only lifeline, her only sanity in a world of insanity. He had saved her. He had shattered her. He had been taken from her, and all of this time she had thought he was dead at the hands of the Red Witch. The man riding towards her was alive. The man riding towards her was very much a man now. 

Gendry. 

His name floated to her mind, causing her lips to twitch into a small smile. She told herself that the moisture pricking her eyes was the result of the wind, yet there was no wind. Gendry had found his way to Winterfell as she had wanted all those years ago. His supposed death had been one of the things that had driven her away from Westeros, yet here he was a living breathing man. She had been wrong. Somehow, he had survived. She had survived as well. 

Arya was frozen in place as he rode passed her. Her voice failed her. She could do nothing but watch, to feel him as he passed her without looking. She slowly turned and watched him until he disappeared inside the walls of Winterfell with the rest. Long after the crowds broke apart she remained where she was. Gendry had been alive this entire time, and she had left him to deal with whatever horrors he had faced. Long after the world around her grew silent, Arya finally began her walk towards her home. 

When she entered Winterfell, her eyes looked everywhere for the boy with the black hair who had turned into a man. He was nowhere to be found, but she knew exactly where he would go. The forge. Arya started off towards Winterfell’s forge, but before she could make it there she saw Jon walk towards the Godswood. He was alone. Arya turned her attention towards her brother and followed. 

She walked silently behind him, his black clock bellowing out behind him. He looked both tired and strong at the same time. His shoulders slumped forward as he stood before their father’s godstree. She stilled, fighting the urge to run up behind him and throw her arms around him. She would give him a moment to himself, a moment to pay his respects to the past. 

Arya felt that familiar mist in her eyes again, felt her throat constrict. All of these years she longed to be this close to Jon, to be just a few feet away from him. He had no clue she was there. She had learned to be as quiet as a mouse. She was left alone to enjoy this moment of finally being in the presence of the person she had so longed to see. The minutes rolled by, and she had to fight against the lump in her throat to speak. 

“You used to be taller,” she said. 

Finally, the face she had seen in the darkness on many occasions turned towards her. Surprise and love looked at her through his dark eyes. 

“How did you sneak up on me?” He asked, his voice shaking. 

“How did you survive a knife to the heart?” She retorted. Sansa had told her the story of what befell him at the wall when she first arrived at Winterfell. She had heard how his own men had turned against him and how he had taken a knife to the heart… several knives. She didn’t believe her at first, but after hearing the story retold from Bran she knew it to be true. 

“I didn’t,” Jon answered, a small smile playing at his lips. Oh, how she missed the bantering. Oh, how she missed Jon. 

For a moment she just stared at him, her mind going to several different places at once. He had not survived it, yet here he was before her. He breathed. He was alive. Why and how? In that moment, Arya realized she did not care. She was beyond thankful he was here. 

Finally, she gave in to her desire to hold her brother. She ran towards him as he ran towards her. Arya jumped into Jon’s arms, her emotions finally taking over. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him as tightly as she could. Jon held her just as tightly to his chest, his own emotions taking over. She refused to let go. Not even death itself could make her let go of Jon in that moment. 

The years between them melted into a blur of color. Everything she had been through had led her to this very moment. The same with Jon. They were finally home, finally reunited. Her eyes came open as she looked upon the godstree. Were their parents watching? Were Rickin and Rob smiling down upon them? A piece of her thought they were. 

Jon sat her back on her feet and she reluctantly let go. Jon’s eyes roamed all over her, taking in the woman she had become, until his eyes landed on the sword at her side.

“You still have it.”

Arya unsheathed Needle, holding it out between them. Needle was Jon Snow’s smile, had always been a reminder of him. Jon took it from her hands, turning it around to check every corner. 

“Have you ever used it?” He asked

Her smile slowly fell as long ago faces passed her memory. Yes, she had used Needle more than she should have had to. 

“Once or twice,” she answered, forcing the words out. What would he think if he knew the actual truth? If he knew how much blood the small sword owned? Would he still love her the same? A knowing look passed between them. Jon knew the answer, knew the unspoken number she could not bring herself to admit. 

Jon surprised her by breaking the tension. She had eyed the sword at his side, and he unsheathed it for her, a small smile playing upon his lips. The banter was back, and she welcomed the change. He placed the large sword in her hands. 

“Valyrian Steel,” she said.

“Jealous?” Jon quipped, making them both smile. 

“Too heavy for me,” she said, handing the sword back. She had grown so used to Needle that no other sword could compare. He could keep his Valyrian Steel… she had her Needle. She watched him put the sword back in its holder and felt his hand rest upon her shoulder. 

“Where have you been?” He asked, quietly. 

Arya tried to give him a smile, but she could not force the action. “Lost,” she said, not able to say anymore. 

His hand came up and gently grabbed her face, hurt and pain shown from his eyes. “I know that feeling,” he whispered. “But, we have found each other again.”

Arya wrapped her arms around Jon again, his warmth blanketing her. Yes, they had found each other again. She would never be lost as long as Jon was here. 

“Come, I want to introduce you to Dany,” Jon said, some time later. 

She smiled, “Maybe later. There is someone I have to find first. I am a little surprised to see him actually, and I have many questions.” 

“Who?” Jon asked. 

“His name is Gendry. He rode in with your caravan. He… he and I journeyed together from King’s Landing after...” she said, not able to mention her father’s execution. 

She watched recognition pass upon his face, as if a puzzle slid into place. “You must be the one he was talking about,” Jon said, more to himself than to Arya. 

“What do you mean?” She asked, her interest peaked. 

“Gendry has been traveling with us for some time. I have gotten to know him well. He once told me of a girl he was taken from. He said this girl was the only real friend he had ever had. He never said your name, but he always said he made a decision that he came to regret every day. When I asked him what that decision was he said not feeling good enough. That’s all he ever said about it, but the moment I announced to everyone that you and Bran were alive and waiting for our return to Winterfell he changed. He was determined to come back with us, even after being asked to go to the Wall to help them he refused. He said his only destination was Winterfell… with or without us,” Jon said, chuckling. 

Arya smiled. That sounded just like him. He had always been bullheaded, and once his mind was made up, it was hard to change him. Had he thought she was dead as well? 

“He went to the forge,” Jon said, a knowing smile playing at his lips. 

Arya reached up and kissed her brother on the cheek and left him. Her heart picked up its beating pace the closer she got to the forge.

She entered the forge, the heat of the fires warming her cold body immediately. Sounds and voices bounced around her. She stood in the shadows as she searched her surroundings. She saw the Hound and Gendry a few feet ahead of her. They were inspecting a weapon that looked like an axe, but this axe was different somehow. She stared at the axe realizing what made it look so different. It was lined with dragonglass. She wanted one… but her ideal weapon was different. Would Gendry make it for her? There was only one way to find out. She would have to ask him. 

The Hound’s voice floated towards her, and in his usual fowl mood he was downing Gendry, asking him which was he… crippled or a cocksucker. Arya felt her anger rise, felt a sudden feeling of protection for Gendry. She had meant to wait until the Hound left to make her presence known, but her words came out before she could stop them. 

“Leave him be,” she said, moving into the light. 

Both men turned to her, both wearing the same shocked look. Arya kept her eyes on the Hound. She was not ready to meet those blue eyes. Not yet. She had to get control of her raging heart first. Instead, she grabbed a hold of her anger and allowed it to ground her. The Hound stood to his full height, something passing in his look, something that could have almost passed for pride, but his words were venom. She expected nothing less. After all, she had left him to die. 

“I heard you were here. You left me to die,” he said, low. 

Yes, she had left him to die. The person she was back then would have let everyone die to ease the pain she was in. A lost little girl who had seen her mother and brother brutally murdered only days before, and who was on the run with a man like the Hound. What he did not know, though, is that a large part of her regretted leaving him. She would never admit it to him… but she felt almost guilty. 

“First I robbed you,” she shot back. 

He walked slowly towards her, his face shown his anger. Arya did not flinch, for she knew that is what he was looking for. He wanted to test her, to see if she would cower away from him. She dared not. 

“You’re a cold little bitch, aren’t you?” He drawled out, almost reverently. 

Arya remained hardened, her eyes never leaving the Hound. Yes, she had become cold. Some even would call her a bitch. But, she had become the person she was meant to be. Cold, deadly… vengeful. The cold little bitch had killed the Waif. The cold little bitch had the courage to cut ties with the faceless men and go home. The cold bitch had taken her revenge out upon the entire Frey House for what they had done to her family. Yes… she was a little cold bitch. 

The Hound smirked. Could he see the thoughts going through her head? Could he see all that she had done since leaving him that fateful day? The coldness in the eyes of the man standing before her melted as she stared at him. “Guess that’s why you survived,” he said. 

In that moment she saw the pride in his eyes. There was no denying it. The Hound walked passed her, and she followed him until he disappeared outside. She was taken aback by the exchange, by how his anger had melted into pride. In that moment, she marked his name off her list. He had died once before,so she thought, so the Hound had paid his price to her god in his own way. 

She stared at nothing for a moment, knowing that when she turned around she would come face to face with Gendry. Arya thought it would never be possible seeing him again, but here she was in Winterfell’s forge about to look upon her past. She heard him take a few steps towards her to cut the distance between them. 

Slowly, she turned towards him, his blue eyes watching her closely. He switched his weight from one leg to the other… which used to mean he was nervous. She soaked him in, noting that he had shaved. Last time she has seen him he has been growing facial hair. She liked him like this, liked that she could see his face better. His face looked hardened, but he was still attractive. His dark hair was short, almost buzzed. He had changed, yet he still remained the same in some ways. She always thought he looked strong, and in the darkness of the forge she noticed that had not changed. He had grown taller too, as he still towered over her. Gendry was staring back at her, as if lost in his own summation of her.

“That is a nice axe you made for him. You have gotten better,” she said, wanting to cut the tension that was thickening the air. 

“Thanks, so have you. I mean, you look… good,” he said, his face turning red in an instant. 

Arya kept her face void of any emotion, but she was surprised by his words, even more surprised at how he tripped over them. Gendry had never had a problem speaking in front of her before. He looked almost… bashful. That was never a word she would have labeled him as. The shifting of his weight grew more obvious. 

“Thanks. So do you,” Arya said. The words slipped between her lips so easily. She had not really meant to say them aloud, for they were running through her mind like a song. 

Gendry stilled, a look of surprise crossing his face. He had not expected her to say that. He looked away for a moment. Arya felt a sudden loss at the lack of eye contact. He turned away from her, and for a moment she thought about calling his name just so he would look at her again, but she didn’t have to. 

Gendry turned back to face her. Gone was the look of embarrassment. Gone was the look of being unsure. He took the final steps towards her, evaporating the small distance between them. In the blink of an eye, Arya was transported back to a time when the man before her was all she had. A time when he was the glue that held her together. 

“Where have you been?” He asked so low she almost missed it. 

She did not know how to answer that question, so she threw it back at him. “Where have you been?”

Gendry exhaled deeply, shaking his head. “On a path of self discovery, you could say. After I was rescued from my certain death, I had lots of time to figure things out.”

“The same for me,” she said, slightly smiling. 

“What did you find?” He asked, his voice dipping low again. He was too close to her, and it made it hard to form correct sentences. 

Arya stepped around him, her eyes scanning the forge. It had grown quiet in the time she and Gendry started talking. There was a handful of people working, but they were paying them no attention. Arya kept her back to Gendry. She was not sure she wanted him to know the path she had taken. What would he think of her? Would he be disappointed at her choices? Would he be afraid? 

“It’s a long story,” she said, staring into the fire. 

She felt him walk up behind her. He was so close she felt the heat of his body upon her back. “You wanted me to come to Winterfell. I took the long road… but here I am,” Gendry said, his lips close to her ear. That painful night he had turned his back on her floated to her memory. 

Arya turned to face him. There was that look in his eyes again, the one she could not quite name. It had never been there before this moment. Yes, she had wanted him to come to Winterfell. She had wanted him to stay with her. She had wanted him to be her family, but he has refused her. It was in that moment her life began to unravel. No, it was not his fault he was taken from her, but had he not been taken he would have allowed her to leave him without so much as a fight. The hurt and anger she felt the night he told her he was staying with the Brotherhood showed its ugly head. Arya had not been good enough for him, had not been good enough to be his family. 

“I remember you telling me I would not be your family after I threw my heart at your feet,” she said, her eyes growing hard. 

“Arya…” Gendry began, his hand reaching for her face. 

She took a step back, leaving his hand in the air between them. Slowly, he lowered it to his side, a look of hurt swimming in his blue eyes. This was not the reunion she had had in mind, but the memory of that night seared into her heart. He was still the man who left her just like everyone else. 

“I have to go,” she said, walking passed him, but his hand shot out and grabbed her arm. Arya had to bite down the urge to use force against him, her instincts kicking in. Gendry was strong, but she could hurt him easily if she wanted. 

“There is so much you do not know. So much that even I did not know at the time. Please, allow me to explain, and then maybe you can accept how deeply sorry I truly am for that night.”

It was not so much his words that stilled her, but it was in the way he said them. They came out urgent, almost desperate. When she looked upon his face she saw that same desperation. His eyes begged her to listen, begged her to stay. 

“What is it?” she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. 

“Not here. Is there somewhere where we can go that is not so… open?”

Arya led Gendry out of the forge towards the stables. At this time everyone would be making their way towards the Great Hall, so the stables would be deserted. When they made it inside the stable she turned to ask him what he had to say, but she did not get the chance. Gendry grabbed her face, his warm hands sliding over her cold cheeks surprising her. Before she could make a sound his lips touched hers. It was the first kiss she had ever had, and for a small moment in time she forgot everything else. 

Memories flooded her. Long ago places and feelings she had tried to forget. The feeling of being betrayed and alone, of feeling unworthy. The words Gendry had spoken the night he told her he was staying with the Brotherhood. They rushed towards her and pierced through her like a sharp blade. The wounds Gendry had caused her were still there… still fresh, and the knowledge that he was still alive had not seemed to mend them. Hurt coursed through her veins as he deepened the kiss. 

Arya’s hands shot up between them. With all the power she could muster she pushed against Gendry’s chest. He stumbled back in surprise, his eyes growing wide. Arya panted as her eyes grew cold. 

“Do not ever touch me again,” she said, tears blinding her vision. 

Even as Gendry called to her, his voice growing desperate, Arya did not stop her feet from leaving the stable. She needed to get away before the dam broke. She needed to get away before all the painful feelings came flooding out and someone saw her. She headed towards the security of the Godswood, to the darkness she had grown so used to by now.


	2. Chapter 2

Arya ran until the lights of Winterfell was snuffed out by the darkness. A single tear ran down her cheek, and she swiped at it angrily. She came to a stop, her eyes adjusting to the blackness. She could see better than anyone in the dark, for her training as a faceless man had taught her well. Her emotions were all over the place, going from anger to elation back to anger. In just a matter of seconds Gendry had crumbled her very sturdy walls. She could still feel his lips upon hers, and her eyes closed on their own. She shook her head, grabbing on to her anger. No, he had hurt her. He did not get a pass for that no matter what had happened to him afterwards. 

“Arya!”

She turned in surprise. He had followed her. She saw his outline coming in her direction. His arms were out before him leading the way. Arya realized he could not see where he was going, the darkness blinding him. She took a step towards him, her instincts screaming for her to protect him, but her heart screamed of pain and betrayal. 

“No more running,” he yelled, coming to a stop. He turned in every direction, his eyes searching the darkness. “No more running. Not for you. Not for me.” 

“I am not running,” she answered him, quietly. 

His head jerked in the direction of the sound of her voice, and he began to walk again. When he stopped again, he held his hand out towards her, though she could tell he still could not see her. Gendry was allowing her to come to him this time, for her to reach out and take his hand. 

“I am so sorry, Arya. There are no words I can properly use to convey how sorry I am. I was a foolish, scared boy who did not think he was good enough. When you grow up the way I did you tend to believe you are not worth much. I wanted to make something of myself, something worthy to stand by your side. I did not know how to express that back then. I did not want to be just another person working for your brother Rob as you suggested. I wanted to be worthy of Rob’s sister… I wanted to be your equal. I should have went with you the very night you asked me. Our lives would have been much different.”

His words caught the very breath of Arya. She took a step towards him before stopping again. 

“We would probably be dead by now,” she whispered. 

“Maybe… maybe not. We did pretty well on our own.”

Arya chuckled, causing Gendry to smile. “Yes, getting caught by the Gold Cloaks and sent to Harrenhal and then getting caught by the Brotherhood is good work on our part,” she said. 

“We survived it all, did we not?” he said, softly. 

“We did… together,” she responded.

“Together.” Gendry took another step towards her, yet his eyes were still looking all around him. She needed only to take his hand. 

“And what happened when we were not together? How did our lives go then?” she asked, her voice showing her hurt. 

“I was taken by the Red Witch and almost killed. If it were not for Ser Davos I would not be here tonight.”

“I boarded a ship and left my home thinking everyone I loved was either dead or had forgotten me. I had no one left.”

“Neither did I,” Gendry said, his voice quivering. 

Arya took another step towards him. When she did, his head moved in her direction, and she could barely make out the outline of his face. He remained looking in her direction. Could he finally see her? If he could, he made no move towards her. Was he allowing her to still be the one to cut the distance, or was it just luck that he was looking in the right direction?

“Did you ever think about me?” she asked. These questions were easier to ask in the blanket of darkness. 

“Every day. When I made my escape I went back to King’s Landing. I had nowhere else to go. It was there that I heard of your family’s murder. I knew you were headed towards them and I thought the worst. I thought you had reached them and was murdered with them. Not a day went by that I did not mourn you. I would dream about you almost every night,” he said, taking another step towards her. “That is where you lived… in my dreams. In the light of day, I was tortured with my decision to leave you. I fought an inward war with myself every waking day, but at night you were there.”

“In the darkness,” she whispered. 

“Tell me this is not fate, or some higher something at work that we stand here after all these years, after all we have been through, and we found our way back to each other. Arya, this does not happen by chance. Please…”

Gendry took another step towards her, his arm never wavering. Arya felt the walls she put up due to her anger and pain begin to shake. “I thought you were dead too. I tried to forget your face. I tried to forget your name. I could not do it”

“I cannot see you, Arya, but I know that you can see me. If you take my hand I promise to never let go again. I cannot find you in the dark, but I can take us both back into the light if you let me. I can be your family… please,” he whispered. 

Arya took another step towards him. Her hand reached out, inches from Gendry’s. She needed only to move that final step. The choice was hers. The choice to forgive him. He was right. Something more powerful than them was at work here. It should not have been possible that the two of them were even alive, yet here they were all of these years later. He had survived his journey as she had survived hers. They were who they were now because of that journey. And who was he now? There were so many questions, so many things that did not make sense. 

Arya’s hand slid into Gendry’s like a missing piece of the puzzle. He grabbed a hold tightly and pulled her towards him. She allowed him to do this. He wrapped his arms around her, his heart hammering against his broad chest. Arya wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head upon his chest. For a long time they stood in each other’s embrace. No words were spoken, for none was needed. 

Gendry released Arya, but kept a tight hold on her hand. He led her back towards Winterfell, but half way there he tripped and took them both down to the ground. Laying on the ground, Arya began to laugh. Gendry joined in, their laughter mingling together in the darkness. He wrapped one arm around her and pulled her to his side. She laid her head upon his shoulder, her laughter still bubbling over. They laid in the darkness for a while. 

“Maybe I should lead us back the light,” Arya said. 

“Maybe you should,” Gendry answered, laughing. 

Arya stood to her feet, helping Gendry up. He never let go of her hand. She had no trouble seeing her way back to Winterfell. She had no trouble dodging large roots or rocks that would trip them. Gendry followed her every movement, as if in a dance. Where she walked he walked. Where she moved he moved. 

When they came out of the Godswood, they noticed a large group of people heading towards the great hall. She glanced at Gendry, who shrugged his shoulders. They headed off in that direction.

They forced their way through the large crowd into the great hall. Jon and his Dragon Queen stood before the large crowd, their faces wearing the same weary look. There was a murmur swimming amongst the people. Their faces looked at one another in fear. What was going on? 

“There is no way to outrun them, nowhere to run. We make our stand here… at Winterfell. We hold the gates as long as we can. There is no other way. We run south, they catch us. We run north, they will catch us. We run east, they will catch us. We run west, they will catch us.”

“How do you kill something that is already dead?” A man shouted from the crowd.

“With this,” Jon answered, holding up an odd looking sword. It looked like the axe Gendry had made for the Hound. “Dragonglass. We have an abundance of it thanks to Queen Daenerys. Our smiths are tirelessly working to outline every weapon we have with dragonglass. They will work day and night until every person, every man woman and child, is armed with a weapon.”

“You want our women and children to fight?” Someone yelled. 

Jon turned and stared at every face before him. Arya saw the weight of the world upon her brother’s shoulders. “I want none of us to fight, but that is not possible. The army of the Dead is coming. They will not rest. They will not stop. They are not going to give Winterfell a pass, but will come straight through us. I do not want women and children to fight, but I do want them to have a way to defend themselves if it comes to that.”

”You believe we will lose?”

The murmurs from earlier rose to a loud chorus of voices. Men held their wives close. Women held their children to their bosoms. Some were even crying. In the craziness of seeing Gendry alive, Arya had forgotten what was coming for them. Bran has warned her and Sansa of the army coming for Winterfell. She did not believe him at first, but hearing Jon speak she realized there was no denying the truth. She needed a weapon, one that she was familiar with. And she needed Gendry to make it for her. She would fight anyone who came to Winterfell’s door. Dead or not. 

“I believe we fight. This is our home. We defend it from the living. We defend it from the dead. If we die we will die going out fighting. That is all I know. Are you with me?” Jon said, his voice powerful. 

No one said a word as he turned to each of them. Fear smothered the air. Women turned their faces into their husband’s chest. The men dropped their heads in shame. 

“I am with you,” Arya called out. 

Jon turned in her direction, their eyes locking. She saw his own fear, his own powerlessness. He nodded his head towards her.

“I am with you,” Gendry said beside Arya. 

In that moment the floodgates opened. Slowly, people began to respond. Before long, the great hall filled with voices standing in unity with Jon. They were frightened beyond understanding, but they would fight for their home. 

“Then, let us prepare for war,” Jon said, bringing the meeting to an end. 

“Will you do something for me?” Arya asked, turning to face Gendry. 

“Anything,” he responded. 

“I need you to make a weapon for me. If I bring you a sketch can you do this for me?”

“Of course. If you would like we can get started now.”

Gendry led Arya out of the great hall and towards the forge. For a few hours she sat beside the fires and sketched the weapon she wanted. She would take quick peeks at Gendry, watching him work. 

“You know, the women will be moved to the great hall. It will be safer,” Gendry said, not looking at her. She knew what he was trying to do. 

“Will you be in the great hall?” She retorted, sitting her pencil down. Her sketch was done. 

“No.”

“But, you are a fighter?” Arya said, getting to her feet and walking towards him. Gendry laid his hammer down and faced her, his checks turning beet red. 

“I have done my fair share of fighting.”

Arya raised an eyebrow, “You have fought them? The Dead?”

“I did…”

Arya walked around to stand in front of him, a large stack of dragonglass daggers between them. 

“How many?” she asked, curious. She tried to conjure up a scene in which Gendry fought against something dead, but it failed her. 

“A few,” he answered, his eyes glazing over as if lost in a memory. “That was enough,” he said, low. 

“What are they like?” she asked.

Gendry stilled, his head slowly raising. Haunted eyes met her own. What had he seen? “Bad. Really bad.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “Really bad? You can do better than that, Gendry.” Gendry sighed at her comment. “What do they look like? How do they move? What do they smell like? How hard are they to kill?” She threw her questions at him as fast as possible. 

“Look, I know you want to fight. I know you are not afraid of rapers or murderers, but this is different, Arya.” He grabbed her hand, squeezing. “This is Death. You want to know what they are like? Death, that is what they are like. I will make you that weapon, but all I want to do is take you from this place, from what is coming. I want us to run until there is no place else to run.”

Arya saw the fear in his blue eyes. Whatever he had seen had scared him. He did not know her story yet, did not understand that even death did not scare her. 

“I know Death,” she said, removing her hand from his and grabbing a dragonglass dagger. She threw it with ease across the room perfectly hitting the middle of a wooden beam. Gendry followed her movements, the breath leaving his body in surprise. “He has many faces,” she said, grabbing another dagger and throwing it. It landed perfectly beside the first one. “I look forward to seeing this one,” she finished as she picked up another dagger and throwing it. Gendry looked back at her, awe in his eyes. Arya did not need him to save her. She needed him to arm her. “My weapon?” 

“I will get right on that,” he said, no hesitation in his voice this time. 

Arya smiled at him, handing the sketch and going back to sit down. For the rest of the night she watched him work on her weapon. 

“Where did you go after I was taken?” Gendry asked, some time later.

Arya had been lost in thought, and his voice caused her to jump slightly. She looked at his waiting expression, wondering how much she should tell him. 

“I escaped the Brotherhood in the dead of night. The Hound was waiting and took me as his prisoner.”

“That would explain the hostility from earlier,” Gendry said, putting some pieces together. 

“He tried taking me to the Twins to ransom me to my brother, but we both know how that turned out,” she said, her eyes staring into the fire.

“You were there? When it happened?” he asked, lowering his hammer and walking towards her. She waited until he sat beside her to answer. 

“I was, although I never made it inside. I saw the massacre outside the walls. I saw Rob’s men murdered. The Hound knocked me out, dragged me from what was happening.”

“He saved your life?” Gendry asked, surprised. 

Arya nodded her head. “I came to to see what vile things they had done to my brother’s body. The Hound took us away from that place. We ran into some trouble at an inn, but was able to get out of it. I killed the man who killed Lommy,” she said, quietly. 

“Good,” Gendry answered, just as quietly. Surprised, Arya chanced a glance at him. She was taken aback when she saw pride in his eyes. 

“By the time we ran into Brienne of Tarth I was already lost. I was changing, broken. Brienne and the Hound fought, for she recognized me and wanted to take me, but the Hound was not ready to let his ransom go… or maybe he did not trust her with me. I do not know. Brienne won, throwing the Hound off a high cliff. I found him. He begged me to kill him, thinking he was dying anyway. He begged me to put him out of his misery, but I refused. I wanted him to suffer as much as I was suffering. And I could not bring myself to end his life. Perhaps, a part of me wanted him to live.”

“That would explain his comments from earlier,” Gendry said. 

“Yeah,” she said, softly. “From there I found passage on a ship. I wanted to go to the Wall, to Jon, but the man was headed the opposite way… to Braavos. So, I found myself leaving Westeros.”

“What was in Braavos?”

Arya looked ar Gendry, the moment of truth had come. He would learn who she really was now. 

“The Faceless Men.”

Gendry’s eyes went wide. He blew out a slow breath, rubbing his face. “You went to the Faceless Men?” he asked. 

“I did. They gave me shelter. They taught me their ways. They tried to kill me.”

“What?” Gendry said, sharply. 

“I killed them first,” Arya said, smirking. Her hand slid to her stomach, the scars the waif left behind still visible. The pain she suffered was still there.

“So, you are a badass now. You are a warrior?” He asked, awe and surprise dripping from his words. 

“Something like that,” she said, smiling. 

“A Faceless Man,” Gendry said to himself, his eyes staring off into space. “I do not need to be the one to protect you. It should be the other way around,” he said, chucking. Arya joined him. 

“It does not freak you out?” she asked, worried. 

“No. Why would it? You are a fighter, a survivor. You did what you had to do, and it saved your life. I am grateful for it… not for the trying to kill you part... but for everything else. If anyone survives this war to come it will be you. That gives me some hope and peace.”

Arya reached out and placed her hand on top of Gendry’s. He turned his palm into hers and intertwined their fingers. He had not judged her like she thought he would. He accepted her without a second thought. She even sensed a little pride in his voice. 

Gendry sighed. “My story is not as fascinating as yours, but I have learned some things about who I am and where I came from. It is why the Red Witch wanted me.”

“What did she want with you?” Arya asked.

Gendry stood, his hand sliding away from hers. She regretted the separation immediately and it surprised her. For a few moments Gendry kept his back to her, as if trying to decide how to tell her. 

“The blood of kings can make men rise or fall,” he whispered. 

Arya stared at his back, confused by his words. She watched him slowly turn to look at her. He looked like a lost boy in that moment, but there was a new strength hiding behind his eyes. He knelt before her, this time taking both of her hands in his. For a moment they both stared down at their intertwined hands. 

“I am the bastard son of King Robert Baratheon,” he finally said.


	3. Chapter 3

“What did you say?”

Arya stared at Gendry, her eyes wide in disbelief. Had she heard him right? She had known King Robert Baratheon, had spent enough time with the man. As she stared at Gendry she looked for signs that what he was saying was true. Though Robert was old and fat when she knew him, there was one feature that could not be denied. The eyes. She remembered how piercing blue the King’s eyes had been. It was if they were staring back at her now. 

“It is why the Red Woman wanted me. She told me who I was, where I came from. She introduced me to my uncle Stanis Baratheon right before he sentenced me to death. It is how I met Ser Davos. He helped me escape before they could burn me alive.”

“You are the son of Robert Baratheon?” Arya whispered. Maybe if she said it enough times it would sink in. “I knew your father.”

“That makes one of us,” Gendry replied, looking away. They sat in silence for a moment as Arya watched him. She saw the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes hauntingly stared into the fire. How different would his life had been if King Robert had acknowledged him. Could they have possibly grown up knowing each other?

“That explains why the Gold Cloaks were looking for me when we were headed to the Wall. They were there to kill me on Joffrey’s orders. I posed a threat to the truth that he was not a Baratheon. As far as I know I am the only survivor. All this time I thought I came from nothing. I never knew the truth.”

“Why did the Red Woman and Stanis want to kill you? You were his family.”

Gendry slowly turned his eyes to meet hers. She saw something just beyond her reach, something that looked like guilt. “I can’t be certain. Not really. Nothing was ever explained to me before she stripped me down, tied me to a bed and put leeches all over me. I know what I heard, though.”

“What?” Arya whispered. 

“The Usurper Rob Stark. The Usurper Baelon Greyjoy. The Usurper Joffrey Baratheon. Each time my uncle Stanis said a name he threw the leeches filled with my blood into the fire. I can still hear the sizzling.” 

“All of them are dead,” Arya said, slowing getting to her feet and turning away from Gendry. She felt a sudden surge of rage course through her veins. Her brother had been no usurper. He had been… he had been… “All of them dead because of their lust for the Iron Throne,” she said, softly. 

“Arya, I am sorry. I would have fought my way through anything to keep from having a hand in your brother’s death.”

“Stop,” Arya whispered. She slowly turned towards him. Her rage began to temper a bit. “We will never know if her dark magic was the cause, or if it was some crazy coincidence. My brother died because he trusted that he was safe when he was not. I have avenged his death, and nothing else matters now. There is no reason to apologize.”

Gendry looked thoughtful for a moment, before his blue eyes looked at her in disbelief. “You… you avenged your brother’s death? It was you? You are the vegalianty who brought down House Frey?”

“It will never bring my brother and mother back, but it is one less name on my list,” she said, quietly. 

“The list. I remember you reciting names over and over every night. Have anymore on that list met a fate like the Freys?”

Arya smirked, though there was no humor behind the response. “A few. A few are still left.” 

“Name them,” he said, low.

Arya stared at him for a moment, silence falling around them. “Cersei Lannister. Ilyn Payne. The Mountain. Melisandre. Beric Dondarrion. Thoros Of Mry.”

“Melisandre, Beric Dondarrion, Thoros of Mry. Those were not on your list last time I heard it,” he said, taking a step towards her. 

Arya swallowed, watching him take every step slowly and methodically. Her heart picked up its pace the closer he came to her. “They took something away from me,” she whispered. 

“What?” he whispered back, his hand coming out to caress her cheek. Her eyes closed on on their own, her lips slightly parted. 

“The only person I had left,” she answered, just as his lips touched hers. 

This time, Arya did not back away. This time, she allowed Gendry to deepen the kiss. She did not fight him when his arms came around her waist and pulled her towards him. Instead, she opened her mouth and welcomed him fully. The past seemed to melt away in that moment. It did not matter who Gendry was, or how many names she had marked off her list, the only thing that mattered in that moment is the feeling of being alive. The feeling was something to live for. It was something to fight for. 

Gendry slowly pulled back, his eyes hooded with want. His knuckles, hardened and scaled from his trade, skimmed across the skin of Arya’s cheek causing her flesh to react. What powerful magic was this, she thought? 

“If I do not leave you now and get back to work I will never get that weapon finished for you. I might end up on that list of yours,” he said, joking. 

Arya smiled, a genuine smile. He was right, though. She needed that weapon as fast as he could make it. She stepped away from his embrace and turned to leave. She needed fresh air and a moment to think about what just happened. What it meant. Before Arya could walk out of the forge Gendry called to her. 

“Meet me in two hours in the stables. Your weapon will be ready.” She turned to meet his intense state, not trusting herself to speak. With a nod of her head, Arya left him to his work. 

She walked out into the cold night air, breathing deeply. Gendry had given her her second kiss, yet this last one was different. This last one caused a feeling to stir deep within her, one she had never felt before. It made her hope, for what she was not sure, but it was a hope that was new to her. 

She wandered the grounds of Winterfell, watching men, women and children go about their night. When they saw her each one would stop and bow to her. She hated it. She was no Lady. That title belonged to Sansa alone. Arya wanted freedom, a choice to make her own way of how her life would go. She had always wanted that. She always would. 

“You must clear your mind, sister.”

Arya turned to the sound of her brother Bran. He looked so much like her brother, but she knew he had changed. He was Bran, yet he was not. Wisdom stared back at her, eyes that had seen too much. 

She walked towards him, laying her hand upon his shoulder. Growing up, the two of them were close, as close as any siblings can be. She always felt the need to protect him, and that need had not changed with time. Even as he looked at her with a stranger’s look, he was still Bran… still her little brother. 

“Will you sit and talk with me in the great hall a moment?” he asked. 

Arya nodded her head yes. She took hold of her brother’s chair and wheeled him towards the great hall. Surprised, she stopped in the doorway when she saw Jon and Sansa sitting beside the fire talking in hushed whispers. They both looked up at the same time, their words dying in the crackling of the log fire. 

Arya wheeled Bran towards them and took a seat beside Sansa. For a long time none of the siblings spoke. Arya turned to look at each of them, mesmerized at how much they had all changed. Sansa looked like the regal woman she had always been, yet there was a fire in her eyes, a strength that Arya had never seen before. Jon looked tired, yet looked like a leader, a man destined to lead his people to victory… she hoped. 

What did she look like to them? Arya wondered about this for a few moments. Did she look like the tomboy sister who stayed into trouble, or did she look like the fierce warrior she had become? 

“I often think about how our lives would have been different had the King not showed up that day. I often have dreams of me begging father not to make us leave.”

Sansa’s words floated around them in the silence that followed. How different would their lives have been? Would they all be happy, their family still intact? Or would fate have found another way to rip them apart? 

“You cannot change the past,” Jon said, his eyes staring into the fire. 

“The past is not what is important anymore. What is important is what lays before us,” Bran said, his voice not unkind. 

Another long pause, three sets of eyes looking upon Bran. Arya knew they were all thinking the same thing, yet none of them had the courage to speak it out loud. Not even the fierce warrior, for she feared what the answer might be. 

“There… is something I must tell you both,” Jon said, his eyes staring down at his hands. He stole a glimpse at Bran, who nodded his head. 

“It is your decision,” Bran said. 

This peaked Arya’s interest. She looked from Bran to Jon, back to Bran and finally stared at Jon. What was this exchange about? 

“You must swear that it does not leave this room, that the truth remains between just us four,” he said, quietly. 

“I swear,” Arya answered, without hesitation. She trusted Jon with all of her heart, and if he needed her discretion she would give it to him. 

They turned to look at Sansa, who had not agreed to Jon’s terms yet. Her skepticism shown through her blue eyes. After several moments she slowly nodded her head, giving him her word. 

For the next half hour Jon told them of his parentage, of where he came from. Arya listened, barely breathing, at the story. Jon was not her brother. He was not the bastard son of Eddard Stark. He was the son of her aunt Lyanna and Rhaegar Targaryen. He was the true heir to the throne. Sansa pointed this out just as it skimmed across Arya’s mind. 

“I do not want it. I never have. The claim is Dany’s and I have bent the knee.”

“A foolish act,” Sansa said, not able to hide her anger. 

“A foolish act? Without her and her army we would have no hope to win this war. Without her allowing me the dragonglass we would have no way to defend ourselves. She gives us a fighting chance,” Jon said, his voice rising. 

“And afterwards? What then? We allow her to take the Iron Throne. We allow her to rule over all of Westeros, including Winterfell! We swore to never bend the knee again,” Sansa shot back. 

Arya could feel the tension grow thick in the air. For a moment, she was torn on who’s side she was on. She saw both sides. She cared about her home, about what kind of queen would rule them all, but she saw Jon’s side as well. Why should he be forced to take a role he did not want? She turned her attention towards Bran, who remained quiet through the heated exchange. She watched the fire of the hearth dance in his dark eyes. For a moment, she could have sworn she saw sadness behind his impenetrable stare. 

“Will there even be a Westeros to rule over?” Arya asked, her words cutting through the bickering between Sansa and Jon. 

The room fell silent again, all eyes upon Bran. He slowly looked away from the fire and towards Arya. She saw no emotion, nothing but empty eyes looking at her. 

“I used to like the stories Old Nan told us. I would look forward to them every night as she tucked us into bed. I knew they were embellished, that she probably made them up as she told us, but it never changed the fact that I liked them.”

Arya looked at her brother in confusion. His answer was not what she had expected. She opened her mouth to ask him to explain, but he held up a hand to silence her. 

“The stories I know now are far more terrifying. I have found myself over the past years wishing for her stories again. Those, I knew were not true. The ones I have now are so true it is frightening. I have lost the part of me that was Bran, the boy who loved Old Nan’s stories. I would never want to put that same fear into you, sister. A mighty warrior you are, but even a mighty warrior has their limits. So, let me tell you Old Nan’s story instead.”

He told them of the Long Night. Of a battle that raged on for days, where man stood against a mighty foe stronger than they were. She had heard this story before, yet there was one difference. Bran spoke of the battle happening right here at Winterfell. That had never been a part of the story before tonight. At the conclusion, the humans were victorious, their eyes able to watch the sun rise on a new day. Their foes lay dead at their feet. A hero arising from the ashes, taking a crown of gold upon his head to unite the Seven Kingdoms.”

“That used to be my favorite story of hers… though it has changed,” Jon said, his voice quivering. 

Again, silence. Each one of them was lost in thought, lost in the question they each had, yet the question was the same. Arya swallowed several times to ease her parched throat, her eyes resting on Jon. He stared back at her, his look holding his love for her… and his fear. 

“This story will not turn out like that, though… will it?” Arya asked, her eyes never leaving Jon’s.

It was a fool’s wish, a child’s fantasy, to think they had a chance at defeating the Night King and his army. She had known it from the beginning, had felt it with every beat of her heart. How do you defeat something that is already dead? She reached out and took Sansa’s hand, squeezing. The sisters stared at their hands for a moment, before Sansa reached for Jon. He took her hand without hesitation, just as he reached for Bran. Arya grabbed her brother’s other hand. Whatever answer Bran gave them, they would face it together. United. 

“Even if it does not end the way of Old Nan’s story, would you not fight? Would you give up before trying?” Bran asked. 

“No,” Jon answered for them all. 

They would fight until the last breath was taken from their bodies. They would fight for their people, for their home. Everything they had been through prepared them for this moment, for the day that would ask them to sacrifice everything they knew and loved. 

“If we die, let us die fighting,” Arya added. 

“Together,” Sansa said.

“To the end,” Bran finished. 

Those words echoed through the great hall as they remained in silence, their hands clinging to the other. Whatever awaited them, whatever was coming, they would not run. They would meet it, and if their lives were required they would pay the price… but they would not be an easy victory. If Death wanted them he had better come with all the force he had. 

Hours later, Arya left Bran, Sansa and Jon by the fire of the great hall. She walked the silent path in the dark towards the stables. Enough time had passed for Gendry to be done with her weapon. She swallowed the cold air, realizing she was not the only one Death was coming for. Gendry would fight, of this, she was certain. He would not leave, nor would he hide in the great hall with the women and children. She would lose him… right as she had found him. A sudden pang of loss shot through her, causing her steady strides to falter.

She stopped right at the entrance to the stables, trying to calm herself. She raised her hand in the small light and saw it shake. She balled her fingers into a fist, forcing herself to calm. If this was her last night alive she did not want to waste it on fear. 

Arya stepped inside the stable, her eyes adjusting to the small light within. The animals slept soundly, unaware of their new guest. She looked around her, noticing a bow and arrow hanging up on the wall behind her. She grabbed it, needing something to do while she waited on Gendry. He should have been there by now. 

She had went through the arrows for the third time before she felt a presence behind her. She could hear him breathing, yet he tried to remain silent. He was watching her. Arya felt heat rise to her cheeks, but she did not let him know she was on to him yet. She allowed him to watch her until the last arrow stuck out of the wall. 

Arya turned and looked at the shadows in the corner, waiting patiently. Gendry walked towards her, his body covered in a large fur coat. She smirked, realizing he was not used to the weather of the North. The cold weather ran through her blood… ice. Hot weather ran through his blood… fire. 

“Is that for me,” she asked, nodding her head at what he carried towards her. 

“It is,” he said, holding it out before him. 

She took it from him, looking at every piece of the work. It was beautiful, a deadly weapon made of dragonglass. The spear-like staff was almost as tall as she was. 

“Will it do as I asked?” 

“Yes,” he said, taking it from her. She watched how easily he undid the staff from the middle making it into a detachable weapon. The dragonglass stuck out at two ends, a deadly weapon for both hands. “Two blades,” Gendry said, swinging them around. He attached them back, making it a spear once more, with a large dragonglass head. “Or a spear to plunge through multiple dead at once.”

“Extraordinary,” she mused, her eyes never leaving the weapons. “Thank you.” 

Gendry sat the weapon against the wall, moving towards Arya. He gently took her face in his hands and kissed her, long and tender. When they pulled apart, she looked up into his eyes. 

“We are probably going to die,” she whispered. 

He did not answer her, but wrapped her in his arms. For a while, he held her. There were no words, for none needed to be spoken. In that moment she wished for things to be different. She wished that they were in a forest, perhaps, living a different life. She would never be a lady, not in this life. But for just a moment, she allowed herself to believe she could be his forest love and he her forest lass. If only for just for a moment.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading chapter one. I will be working on the next chapter shortly. As always, comments are welcomed and appreciated.


End file.
